Kendra is armed for bear, zombie, and miscellaneous as yet uncategorized malevolent entities of a possibly ambitious nature. She's got a particularly large morning star in her right hand, crafted more for close quarters carnage than distance killing. She spent a goodly portion of last evening checking and rechecking her weapons, testing them for heft, balance, and sharpness.

She's ready.

But she's also hoping she won't have to get too up close and pesonal with the enemy. But Kendra knows that such hopes are almost always futile. That's why her left hand has a broadsword, a heavy one, because she doesn't want to waste time with crushing skull strikes when she can just behead. She's got other weapons, but if it comes down to using those, she'll be in more trouble than she'd care to admit, but that short sword strapped to her right hip should hold her for a while if things go south too quickly.

Truth be told, she'd have preferred to be the first one through the door, on the principle that an aggressive offense is better than a defense without fail, but Tom knows the lay of the land until she can get in the air and pick out her targets.

He might feel a whoosh of air behind him as soon as he's given her enough room to ascend.

Ugh. The smell, that sickly sweet and slightly astringent smell of the undead. Sadly, she's familiar with it.

Then she's ten feet in the air, assessing who is where and what is what.

"Go!" she says, mostly to herself. She's trying to save her voice for when the killing starts.